Revenge through a blackened soul
by A regrettable decision
Summary: 'I will sacrifice anything for my revenge. My work, my sanity, my soul...' A story about Tom Riddle's descent into madness. Set after he's finished Hogwarts, but when Death Eaters are still known as the Knights of Walpurgis.
1. Chapter 1

I'm not sure how long I can keep pretending.

Pretending to be what?

Sane. Normal. If people saw the real me, they would run. The would scream and the world would light up in terror. And rightly so. If they knew who I was and saw my thoughts, I would never escape. I'd rot and burn, and I'd take them with me. Until nothing was left. I would consume the very essence of their being, just like what you did to me, and then I would spit out the empty carcass. I would laugh whilst they screamed and cried. Whilst they whimpered beneath my feet like they should. Whilst I crushed them into dust.

I would flip that switch and give up. Stop pretending and start being who I really am. And all the people who thought they knew me would combust with the power of their knowledge. Once they knew they had shared tea with the Devil himself and lived to tell the tale. Once they knew they had touched Death and survived, they would cease to exist. They would empty out, just like the rest of them and nothing would matter.

No more would they be the boys and girls, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters they had once been. They would be infinitely more. Then they would be nothing at all. They would be the light and the dark. The sun and the moon. The earth, the sea and the air.

They would cower before me like my ancestors cowered before them. And would destroy them, and they would deserve every last bit.


	2. Chapter 2

I sit on my high throne, looking down at those that leap from their mighty perches to join my 'regime'. They are the royalty of the wizarding world, yet they scurry around my toes like mice, so desperate to prove themselves to me. Terror is a beautiful thing.

 _*I lay in my bed. Facing the cracked plaster of the old ceiling. Tom Marvolo Riddle. A name twisting both the muggle and the wizarding worlds into one. And a name holding power in both. The rich and the royalty. More so than any others. An indescribable sense of power filled me. "Tom! Tom! Tea's ready." Came the unsophisticated drawl of . She was angry. Almost furious. I had been lying here for a while. Counting the cracks and spiderwebs that littered the ceiling. Respect was something that that woman sorely lacked. Something she needed to be...taught. Her thunderous footsteps rang through the house. Almost there. The creaking wooden door flew open. Her mouth partly opened, as if to yell at me. But nothing came out. Her eyes widened in that wonder ours expression that filled me with such astounding joy. I could feel the heat coil in my gut at the mere prospect of what I was about to do. My blood roaring in my ears and rushing downwards. Breathe. It was not the time. I deepened our eye contact, and uttered a single word with a flick of the wand in my palm. 'Imperio.' A shudder ran through my body as her face turned slack. Control. Power. All that was missing was fear. 'Crucio.' Her subconscious would now associate me with pain and fear. The look of horror in her eyes was unrivalled and a sudden shock of pleasure hit me in the gut. I looked down and swore at the mess I had made. Never mind. I would deal with it later. I was then brought back to reality, realising that I had not released from the incantation. A flick of my wand later she was gasping on the floor, like a fish out of water.*_

Even when in control, it is still imperative to I instil fear. Without it, we flounder. My fingers rub over the wound on my hand. Made up of cut over cut over cut. Some scarred, and built up above the rest of the skin, other parts weeping slightly. Pain shoots through my hand. Reality...reality. My knights prancing around in a mixture of grace and false confidence. They know I can crush them, with a twitch of my little finger, I can have them on the floor, gasping for mercy. But still they hold on to this illusion of grandeur. With their incredulous pure blood rules and ways of life. They are a hierarchy of condescension. Seeing those not of their blood as cockroaches beneath their feet. They can never know that one of those cockroaches has risen above and now leads their most prejudicial members.

 _*'I have not seen a mind like this since Salazar himself. You could lead the world to a new era. But one of terror or of greatness I cannot say. However, there is no doubt about were I should put you...SLYTHERIN' I hopped of the chair, a cool façade decorating my features. If these worms were to have any chance of living, they better run.*_

Sudden commotion snaps me out of my stupor. My knights come crashing into the room. Bringing with them a young girl. No more than sixteen, and beautiful. Even with the blood dripping down her face. "What have I told you about bringing your toys in here?" I ask, my voice chilling them to the very core, a shudder rippling through their bodies, visible even at this distance. A meathead near the back of the group answers with a grunt. "She asked to speak to you my Lord." Brushing off her clothes, the girl stands up, sweeping her heavy black locks away from her pale face. "I wish to join the cause." She says, her voice an invigorating mixture of sensuality and madness. The man who spoke earlier chortles and this statement. The girl spins round, reaches for her wand, and hits him with a stream of red light. He falls to the floor spasming and screaming in pain. "Stop." I order, intrigued. She does so immediately. "What is your name?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange sir." I recognise it as one of the pure blood houses, and reply with a slight nod.

"Kill him."


End file.
